


Lumpy Called Me A Racial Slur

by songs_for_sentences



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bad Puns, Biting, Bondage, Bottom Kylo Ren, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crack, Daddy Kink, Decapitation, Flashbacks, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Milk, Mutilation, Please Kill Me, Praise Kink, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Uniform Kink, Voyeurism, Whipping, Why Did I Write This?, hand holding, kylo ren is an emo piece of shit, kylo ren is very vanilla, obama is a sith lord, russian sleeper cell, sentient statue barack obama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songs_for_sentences/pseuds/songs_for_sentences
Summary: Kylo was interrupted from his thoughts when he was forcibly pinned against the wall by Sixty-Nine’s well-muscled body. Sixty-nine wrapped his large, callused hands around Kylo’s skinny thighs, picking him up in a show of sheer dominance fueled by testosterone.“Let’s go,” Sixty-Nine said in his deep, breathy voice. “Or rather, let’s come.”





	Lumpy Called Me A Racial Slur

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy ;)

  
  


Kylo was in a mood.  A big, hot mood—just like something else of Kylo’s. His lightsaber was pulsing and throbbing, a piece of ripe fruit about to burst.  He pushed his dark, tousled hair out of his eyes and let out an animalistic groan. Sweat dripped into his eyes; he panted, rasping through that  **_sexy_ ** mask of his. Earlier that day, Kylo was trying to go about his business as usual, but he was far too turned on. He blamed this on a certain stormtrooper that had caught his eye a few days previous. He had been managing, but when Kylo saw FN-069 lifting weights while shirtless in the gym, his glorious abs proved too powerful to resist.

 

Now, Kylo watched him strut down the corridor, his muscular muscles straining against the dark fabric of the stormtrooper uniform that for some reason got Kylo extremely hot and bothered. Kylo supposed he had a thing for men in uniforms.  He would get rid of the problem, but, well, that would leave him without an army and a hobby. As Kylo passed FN-069, the stormtrooper nodded to him, causing Kylo to flush head to toe. 

 

“Hey there,  _ w333333e _ , you sexy bitch.” FN-069 waggled his eyebrows darkly. Kylo didn’t know what  _ w33333e  _ meant, but considering the context he supposed it wasn’t anything bad.

 

“I’d be glad to be your bitch, FN-069,” Kylo replied huskily, leaning in towards the towering hunk of pure masculinity. FN-069 scooted closer before ducking his head down and quickly taking out a sizeable chunk of Kylo’s left ear.

 

Kylo reached up to his bloody ear stump in surprise. “Kinky,” he gasped.

 

“My friends call me sixty-nine,” said FN-069 with a wink. Ear cartilage still dangling from his mouth, he suavely slipped a hand into the folds of Kylo’s sithy silks.

 

Kylo let out a breathy moan, before pulling away. “We can’t do this,” he said, glancing around nervously. “Not here, at least.”

 

69 shrugged. “Let’s go to your rooms, then.”

 

That thought was almost enough to shake Kylo from his passion-fueled desire.  He was as mindless, it appeared, as an animal in heat. But even animals can see reason when faced with imminent danger. How in the world was Kylo supposed to explain the rather extensive collection of emo boy band posters that had accumulated on the walls over the years? He thought of the face of Gerard Milky Way, his favorite jizz bands Binks-182 and Panic! at the Death Star.  He loved them dearly, but—oh, the humiliation, the heartbreak! It was best not to lead 69 on.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kylo said—and he realized suddenly that those two words had not escaped his lips for many, many years—“but I just can’t do it.”

 

“Oh, you most certainly can,” said 69, but he must have noticed the brokenness in his words, for he looked up at Kylo with sad, imploring eyes.  “Call me if need be, my lord.”

 

It was through a film of bitter tears that Kylo saw 69 walk away. Why did his words always have sharp edges? Did it reflect something shattered inside him, something he had long learned to dull and hide away?  Love—sweet tyrant.  It would be the end of him. 

 

“Wait!” 

 

Sixty-nine turned to face him. “Yes?”

 

“Maybe we could go to your chambers, FN-069. I know it's a bit lacking, but—”

 

“Master, surely you know that we wouldn't have any privacy in the barracks—I mean, not that I'm not into that…” He gave a Kylo a  **_look_ ** .  

 

Kylo thought about it.  It would be damaging to his reputation, he supposed, but then again, what wasn't? “I will request a general’s room.  Congratulations on your promotion, Sixty-nine.”

 

“Well in that case… can I be your master?” Sixty-nine shot Kylo a lustful smolder.

 

“You could… but I'd rather you be my Daddy,” said Kylo, his eyebrow twitching seductively.

 

“Man, that shits kinda fucked up but ok, baby girl,” Sixty-nine replied.

 

“Haha, yeah…” Kylo’s heartbeat was racing, and not in a good way. He was actually the most vanilla person on Death Star III, and he was starting to think that acting kinky to get laid was maybe not a great idea. Sixty-nine seemed extremely kinky, if his boots were anything to judge by. 

 

Kylo was interrupted from his thoughts when he was forcibly pinned against the wall by Sixty-Nine’s well-muscled body. Sixty-nine wrapped his large, callused hands around Kylo’s skinny thighs, picking him up in a show of sheer dominance fueled by testosterone. 

  
“Let’s go,” Sixty-Nine said in his deep, breathy voice. “Or rather, let’s come.”   
  
Kylo found himself resting against Sixty-Nine’s meaty chest, and groped his pectoral muscles. He massaged them firmly.

 

“Hell yeah let’s go”

 

They went into the barracks. Kylo had a moment of panic—what was he supposedes to do with this extra-kinky body? Extra-kinky things, he supposed---but Kylo’s own tastes were closer to the color of his sour-milk skin.  

 

“I am so vanilla,” Kylo whispered into 69’s rock-hard abdoman.  

 

“What?” said the small abdoman’s face.  “What the fuck”

 

69 frowned down at his abdoman, before giving him a small whack. “Shut up lil dude I’m trying to get some fuckt!”

 

“O gomennasai” said the abdoman, detaching itself and running away.

 

Kylo stared after it in horror. 

 

“Sorry, I spawn little men like the thing from Alien sometimes.” sixty-nine shrugged.

 

“Wait, what’s alien??? Like… just any alien? Twi’leks? Wookies? Bothans? Ewoks? Gungans? What we talking here…”

 

A look of panic overcame 69’s well-toned features. “Oh shit that doesn’t exist here,,. I mean that’s classified information… sorry but you need a very high iq to comprehend it.” 

“Oh,” said Kylo, disappointed. He had been told all throughout childhood that he was a very stupid boy… kylo felt himself drifting away, caught in the current of his repressed memories.

“Hey 69,” said Kylo, blushing, “can you tell me I’m smart during sex?”

 

“Uh,” said 69, “I’ll be lying, but sure. Speaking of sex…” They had arrived at the life sized statue of baroque obaema kept onboard of every ship belonging to the first order. Baroque Obaema was the founder of the sith order, and he was worshipped as the God. 

 

Kylo blushed furiously at the thought of getting naughty in front of the all seeing eyes of his ancestor and hero, Baroque Obaema. 

 

“It’s okay,” said 69.  “He likes it.” Neither of them noticed, but the statue’s face shifted ever so slightly into a dirty grin. 

 

“Let’s get it...obamon then,” said Kylo.

 

Kylo lowered his pasty hand into Sixty-Nine’s still-buckled jeathers.  His balls pulsed under his touch like bright red currant berries, and Kylo found his mouth watering at the thought of them bursting over his tongue.  God, when had he ever liked Gushers this much?

 

Sixty-Nine levitated Kylo into the air with the Force and procured a whip out of nowhere.  

 

‘Put your body on my skin (some song from a youtube ad)”. said Kylo in a desperate attempt to get the whip the fuck away from his vanilla ass.  

 

“Uhhh okay smart boy,” said Sixty-nine, twining the rope that he had pulled out of thin air.  Sixty-Nine bound kylo’s wrists to Obama’s stony neck. Was it just Kylo’s imagination, or did he hear a deep, breathy voice behind him whisper, “Bathe me in your fountain of milk?” 

 

Kylo shivered.  Sixty-nine crushed his moist flower-petal lips against Kylo’s pasty ones.  He even stuck his double-forked tongue down his pasty throat. There was a goddamn fountain of milk, all right.

 

“I haven’t even whipped out my dicks yet,” said Sixty-nine, marveling at the milk.

 

“Dicks?” shrieked Kylo, terrified.  “I...uh...actually really like holding hands.  Like, gently.”

 

“Oh.  Well, as long as we’re disclosing kinks…” Sixty-nine whipped out something much whiter and hairier than multiple dicks.  It looked like a bantha skin—if bantha skins were made out of polyester and involved plush googly eyes.  “Look out, world—I’m a furry!” 

 

Kylo felt something bust within him, and it wasn’t a nut.  A flood of memories burst through the carefully maintained repression wall, and suddenly Kylo was back on the farm with Han, a blaster in his hand and a finger on the trigger.  “You see any furries...shoot ‘em,” spat his father.  “They’re all traitors and bastards and Republicans.  Go on, son.  Fire.” The trigger was cool and inviting; he pulled it, and the fursuit nailed to the fencepost burst into smithereens, and Kylo’s heart was all hate and hellfire...

 

Sixty-nine’s head was off his body before Kylo even knew the lightsaber was in his hand.  

 

“Rude,” said Obama’s disembodied voice.

 

“He was a furry,” Kylo seethed, unsure of who he was talking to.  

  
_ He was a furry, _ Kylo told himself that night, weeping alone in his emo room.  _ He was a furry, but now I’m out of a good fuck. _

 

[Lumpy Called Me A Racial Slur](https://media.giphy.com/media/hffHBmxUSfHlm/giphy.gif)

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry


End file.
